


Deliver Us From Evil

by Melanie_Athene



Series: To Err Is Human [13]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Fix-It, Humor, M/M, Post Season 6
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-17
Updated: 2011-11-17
Packaged: 2017-10-26 05:16:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/279116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Melanie_Athene/pseuds/Melanie_Athene
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Crowley...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Deliver Us From Evil

“What's the matter, Castiel? Cat got your tongue?” Crowley taunted, brushing imaginary specks of lint off his expensive suit, fussily adjusting his cufflinks, and generally looking entirely too damned smug for Dean's liking. “I've been expecting your call, partner. We have unfinished business to discuss. Like the little matter of you owing me for all the souls I so kindly procured on your behalf.”

“I owe you nothing,” Castiel replied, restoring all the candles with a curt motion of his hand. In the flickering light his face was austere and distant, not a trace of humanity could be found.

“You owe me _everything_ ,” Crowley said. “I saved your ass. And _this_ is the thanks I get?” He shot a contemptuous glance around the sacred circle, cast his gaze further afield to encompass the shabby warehouse. “I must admit, I expected better of you. This primitive trap is beneath a god's notice. It reeks of human despair. Shame on you! But that's what you get for slumming with the Winchesters. I should have wiped them from existence when I had the chance. Ah well, it's never too late to remedy that little oversight.”

“You are not to harm them.” Castiel's eyes were incandescent with fury and he stepped so close to the circle that the toe of his shoe almost brushed against the sacred soil. “You are _never_ to harm them. I thought I made that very clear.”

“Yes, yes, I'm quite familiar with your tiresome prime directive. Dean and Sam, Sam and Dean. Blah, blah, blah. Smite, smite, smite. Godhood has not refined your tastes overmuch, my dear. But, then, I never thought you would amount to much as a god.”

“Like you'd do better,” Dean snarled, moving around the circle to stand at Castiel's side, Ruby's knife clenched in his hand and a fierce scowl carved on his face. “King of Hell? King of the dung heap, you mean.”

“Your pet is loyal,” Crowley smirked. “I'll give you that. But yapping lapdogs are a dime a dozen.” His head tilted and he studied Castiel and Dean carefully. “I have never understood what makes this one in particular so special to you. He's so... uncouth.”

Bobby and Sam moved to stand beside Castiel and Dean in a silent show of support.

Crowley cocked an eyebrow and casually turned his back on them. Picking up the silver coin, he tossed it from hand to hand before slipping it into his pocket. “Silver,” he muttered unhappily. “Don't you know I come out in a rash if I wear anything less than gold?”

“Believe me,” Dean snorted, “your comfort rates pretty low on the list of things I give a crap about.”

“I'm sure it does. But it's the little touches, that certain _je ne sais quoi_ , that distinguishes amateurs from pros, brilliance from mediocrity. And you, mate, are the rankest of the rank. You sully the very air beings like Castiel and myself breathe.”

“Don't lump Cas in with the likes of you,” Dean said coldly. “He's nothing like you.”

“I quite agree.” Crowley nodded. “He's worse. He reneged on our agreement. He's a liar, a cheat and a thief. If I were you, I wouldn't trust a word that falls from his gorgeous lips. Tell me, what has he promised you? His eternal gratitude?” Crowley snickered. “Right. As if he is capable of being grateful. He's lying, Dean. Every word is a lie, every promise a convenience. And when you are of no further use to him... what then? He'll cast you aside and move on to the next poor fool who hasn't got the sense to see him for what he is. Just ask Balthazar – oops, I forgot. You can't. Because he's dead. Castiel killed him. Murdered his own beloved brother in cold blood. What chance does a lowlife like you stand? It's only a matter of time before he turns on you too.”

“Don't listen to him, Dean,” Sam cried, anticipating Dean's response and lunging forward to grip his brother's arms and hold on tight. “He's trying to provoke you into an attack. Don't break the seal!”

“Your use for these two I understand,” Crowley mused. “The demon child held great potential once, and could be groomed to rise to power again. The old hunter has both brains and experience – and, on an interesting side note, he's a bloody good kisser too.” Crowley's gaze sharpened as he saw Dean's pupils dilate at the reference to kissing and when the hunter's eyes unerringly sought and captured Castiel's, the demon smiled. “Ah,” he said softly. “That's the way the wind blows, is it? God and the Righteous Man? Not so righteous, either of you. Which undoubtedly means that one of the key components of this little spell is, shall we say, tainted.”

Careful to avoid the other ingredients, Crowley dipped a finger into a thick smear of blood and brought the glistening digit to his tongue. “Hmm,” he said thoughtfully. “You're down a pint or two, Castiel. A little short on purity and fresh out of godliness. In fact, I'd say you're scraping the bottom of the angel spectrum. How insulting, being offered sloppy seconds. What happened to all of my souls?”

“They were not yours,” Castiel growled. “No more than they were ever mine. They are back where they belong, in my Father's care.”

“How unfortunate,” Crowley murmured. “How truly unfortunate... for you.”

“He doesn't need your pity,” Dean said sharply.

“He doesn't have it.” Crowley grinned. “In fact, I am quite delighted with this turn of events. I couldn't have planned it better myself. So, I thank you for your unique brand of hospitality, but I really must be going now.”

“And just how do you propose to leave?” Bobby drawled. “Last time I checked, you were standing in a devil's trap. We're calling the shots here.”

“Do you really think I'd be so stupid as to hand over all the souls?” Crowley said, his eyes darkening to two inky pits. “I put a few away for a rainy day. One here, one there... it all adds up over time. Oh, nothing to compare with the unholy brew you guzzled down, Castiel. But enough to shield me from this childish attempt at entrapment. Enough to break free and drag you back to Hell with me.”

Leaping from the circle with preternatural strength and speed, Crowley knocked Dean flat on his back in passing and grabbed Castiel with his right hand, Sam with his left. “Say goodbye, Dean,” he jeered, and vanished as abruptly as he had arrived.

“Sam!” Dean shouted, scrambling to his feet. “Cas!”

“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck,” Bobby muttered. “I shoulda seen that coming.”

“He has them, Bobby. He has them both.” Dean choked out the words, his hands knotting in helpless fists, the handle of Ruby's knife digging painfully into the flesh of his right palm. He welcomed the pain. It helped him focus. It held back the hopeless wave of fear that threatened to crush him.

“I know, son. I'm sor – ”

“Don't you dare,” Dean rasped. “Don't you dare say I'm sorry for your loss. Because they aren't lost. I'm getting them back. If that means I have to go to Hell again, I swear that's what I'll do. He's not taking them away from me.”

“Dean...”

“This isn't over,” Dean whispered, as much to reassure himself as to convince the old hunter. “There has to be a way...”

 

~*~

 

If there was a way, Dean couldn't find it. Hours turned into days... No crossroads demon would strike a bargain – and more than a few laughed in his face. He and Bobby looked at every page of every book on every shelf, they spent hours on the internet, or on the telephone talking to other hunters. Dean couldn't eat. He couldn't sleep. He couldn't afford to. He knew all too well that every minute they delayed was as an hour in Hell, that weeks were months, months years...

“You aren't going to be of any use to anyone if you keep going like this,” Bobby muttered. “Take a break.”

“No,” Dean said stubbornly, refusing to seek solace in the whiskey the old hunter offered, ignoring his repeated hints to grab a shower, pushing himself ruthlessly, incessantly. And still it wasn't enough...

Bobby shrugged and buried his nose in another dusty volume of arcane lore. “You know,” he said softly, when a few silent minutes had passed. “It occurs to me to wonder why that angel of yours ain't a full angel yet. I'd say it's pretty damned obvious that you've forgiven him. So what's up with holding back? Why'd you let him go up against Crowley half-cocked like that?”

“What do you think happens when he gets his full powers back?” Dean whispered. “You think he'll want to hang around mud monkeys when he can soar through the clouds? I'm a selfish bastard, Bobby. You should know that by now. I'm supposed to be helping an angel get his wings back... but when I do, I lose him.”

“Dean...”

“I don't ever want to let him go.”

“Dean, you couldn't shake that boy loose if you tried. He loves you. Have a little faith. In him, if not in yourself. Much as it pains me to admit it, you're good together. You have been for a long time. Boinking the guy is icing on the cake. It's the profound bond you share that matters. And neither Heaven nor Hell can take that away from you.”

“Wanna bet?” Dean muttered. “Crowley's done a damned good job of it. Chuck isn't responding to my calls. There's not so much as a glimmer from the damned bond. And Sam... Fuck! I can't bear to think of Sam... He won't survive this, Bobby. Another round in Hell will kill him. Worse than kill him... Why did Crowley have to take him? Why couldn't he have taken me?”

“Because he knows you'll suffer more on Sam's behalf than you would being tortured yourself. That demon's clever. But he's not infallible, Dean. We'll find a way. The solution is probably staring us right in the face.”

“I think... I think maybe I will take that break,” Dean murmured, turning his face away from the old hunter to hide the sudden sheen of tears that filled his eyes. “I'll just lie down for a few moments. Clear the wool out of my head.”

Bobby watched as Dean fled the room, swift footsteps carrying him up the stairs. And then he sighed and turned his attention back to his book, ignoring the salty trickle that slid down his own cheek as his head bent over the pages.

 

~*~

 

Dean tried, but he could not find the rest he so sorely needed. The bed was far too wide and empty. The pillow smelled of Castiel, but it was cold and lifeless in his arms. Dean sat up with a sigh. One of Castiel's neatly folded T-shirts peeked out at Dean from a half-open duffle. Dean rolled off the bed and picked up the bag. Save for his winter jacket and boots, which were downstairs in a closet, all of Castiel's worldly possessions were contained within these folds of canvas. His few spare clothes. A Bible. His cell phone and ATM card. Two obviously well-loved and oft-handled photo strips. A winged, pink unicorn. Dean touched a finger to the tip of its horn and smiled.

“You make me happy too, Cas,” he murmured, lying back down and aimlessly stroking the unicorn's silken blue mane. A blue that came nowhere close to the perfection of Castiel's blue eyes...

Somehow, slumber found him.

 

~*~

 

Castiel was dreaming, he had to be dreaming. He'd never seen this place before: the dark hallway stretching both before and behind, the dank and dirty flagstone floor, the low ceiling that forced him to stoop as he strode up and down the dimly lit hall. Heavy wooden doors lined either side of the passageway and both ends as well. All closed, all concealing something that he somehow knew should remain contained. To open a door meant death... but there was no escaping from this limbo if he did not choose.

“Dean?” he whispered.

“He is not here,” a cold voice replied. “He cannot hear you.”

“Crowley...” Castiel turned to face the speaker. “This is a dream.”

“Indeed it is, darling,” Crowley agreed, looking infinitely pleased with himself. “I placed you and Sam in stasis for ease of transport. You both slipped so sweetly into a coma that I have been unable to contact you. Until now. Until you began to dream.”

“You cannot harm me here.”

“Perhaps not,” Crowley agreed. “But you cannot hide in dreams forever. You will choose to wake, or you will choose a door. Sam has already made his choice.”

“Sam!” Castiel stepped closer to the demon, looming over him threateningly. “What did he choose?” he breathed.

“To wake. To live. To face the pain. He is brave, this human.”

“If I awaken, you will not harm him further?” Castiel said. “You will set him free?”

“Oh no, Castiel. I can't promise you that. It would be a lie. He too must suffer. But I will grant you this: as long as you endure the justice I mete out, I will not touch him. He will watch, and learn what is to be his fate, but that is all. Until you scream for me to take him instead.”

“He will have a long wait,” Castiel said firmly.

“I certainly hope so,” Crowley replied. “Wake up, Castiel. Wake up. Wake up...”

 

~*~

 

“Cas!” Dean screamed, and shot up from the bed. His entire left shoulder was a fiery mass of pain. Wincing, he peeled back his sleeve and stared at the handprint embossed there, the flesh red and raw and throbbing. Beyond a doubt, he knew that Castiel was the one in actual physical pain. “Oh, God,” Dean moaned. “Oh, God!”

 

~*~

 

“Dean...” Castiel murmured. The glow started at his fingertips, crept up his arm and spread across his chest. Crowley stepped sharply back, the knife dropping from his hand as he watched the sigils he had just carved in Castiel's flesh draw closed before his very eyes. Castiel's head tilted back in ecstasy and he smiled. “Dean,” he repeated, calm blue eyes focusing on the demon's suddenly pallid face. “Have faith, Sam. He is coming for us.”

“I never doubted that he would,” Sam replied.

“You're mad. You're both mad,” Crowley said. “He's just a man. He cannot save you.”

“Faith moves mountains,” Castiel said serenely.

“Then I'll destroy his faith,” Crowley growled. He snatched up Castiel's bloodied, crumpled trench coat from a table and made it vanish with a snap of his fingers. A second snap, and Sam's blood-soaked shirt also disappeared. “Let's see how Dean likes my little message,” Crowley crooned.

 

~*~

 

“Cas,” Dean repeated, a smile lighting his face, pain receding and hope blossoming in its place.

“Dean! Dean!” Bobby called urgently. “You gotta come see this. It looks bad, really bad.”

Dean tore down the stairs and stared in disbelief at the bloodstained garments which had magically appeared on Bobby's porch. And then, much to Bobby's surprise, he burst into laughter.

“Gotcha,” he chortled.

“Have you lost your marbles, boy? What do you need? A severed finger to get the message across?”

“Crowley's rattled,” Dean said, opening the door and collecting the soiled clothing, breathing in the faint traces of his brother's cologne and the familiar, indescribable scent of Castiel. “He wouldn't bother sending me a message if he wasn't worried sick. He'd be too busy doing his thing. Pack up the car, Bobby. We're taking a little road trip.”

“And just where do you think we're going, Dean?”

“I don't know,” Dean said. He tapped his left shoulder. “But I've got a built in homing device and it's finally been triggered. I'm willing to bet my life that the road we take doesn't lead us to Hell. Crowley lied. He didn't have the power to take them there. That means he's still within our reach. It means he's only had them for three days. We're still talking real time. Cas is alive. Sam may be too.”

“I'll drive,” Bobby said. “We can't chance your funky radar running us into a tree if it says zig when the road says we should zag.”

 

~*~

 

“That way,” Dean said, pointing south.

Bobby gunned the Impala's engine and made the turn, barrelling down the I-29 just slightly over the speed limit, praying that some cop with a ticket quota to fill didn't pull them over for speeding. He wouldn't be responsible for Dean's actions if there was a delay.

“Does any of this look familiar to you?” Bobby asked a few hours later, as they exited the interstate and Dean directed him to turn left here, right there.

“Yeah,” Dean said. “It does. I think I know where we're headed.”

“Bootbock, Kansas,” Bobby said softly.

“Crowley's lab.” Dean nodded.

“We have a plan?”

“No. But I've never let that stop me. Step on it, Bobby. You drive like an old lady.”

“You never saw my granny drive,” Bobby snorted. But his foot pressed a little harder on the gas pedal, speeding them that much closer to their destination.

 

~*~

 

The upper levels of Crowley's lab appeared to be deserted, every window in the once grand old building blown. Wind whistled through the corridors, and rain-soaked floors and furniture were coated with a foul-looking green mould.

“Shouldn't we wait until it turns dark?” Bobby mumbled. “I'm feeling pretty exposed here.”

“Not a minute, not a second,” Dean growled. “He doesn't get to touch them any more than he already has.”

“Personally, I think we're just handing him two more heads on a silver platter. We've got nothing, Dean.”

“We've got hope,” Dean said, holding his right hand to his left shoulder, and rubbing it comfortingly. “We've got Cas.”

“Crowley has Cas...”

“Indeed I do,” an amused voice said from behind them. “I have him, but he screams your name, Dean. Oh so prettily, he screams your name. But I'm sure you've heard him moan... seen him writhe... Such a pretty, pretty sight. I wonder... how much longer will he be pretty?”

“I'm going to kill you,” Dean roared, sprinting across the hall towards the demon, Ruby's knife in his raised hand, only to find himself flung back against a wall. He slid down, white-hot fire lancing his spine as bones and muscle protested the cruel treatment. Through a cloud of pain, he saw Bobby carelessly tossed to the opposing wall. The old hunter lay in a crumpled heap and did not rise.

“Turn back now, Dean, and I will let you go,” Crowley whispered, grabbing Dean by his jacket's collar and effortlessly hauling him to his feet. “I won't make the offer again. Your angel is mine. Your brother, too. And when I'm finished with Sam, I'm going to buy myself an eternity of goodwill by giving Lucifer back his favourite squeaky toy. As for the angel... I don't think I'll ever tire of him. He's so... delicious.”

“What's the matter, Crowley?” Dean spit a mouthful of blood in the demon's face. “Spread too thin? Bit off more than you can chew? It's not easy restraining an Angel of the Lord. I suspect it's draining all your energy. You're losing your grip on the damned souls. They're slippery motherfuckers, aren't they?”

“I have all the power I need,” Crowley said, drawing a white handkerchief from his pocket and fastidiously wiping his face clean. “More than enough to deal with you.”

“You just keep telling yourself that. Because I'm coming for my angel and my brother. Count on it.”

“You've been warned,” Crowley replied. And vanished.

Dean paused only long enough to check that Bobby was still amongst the living, before continuing down the hall which led to the basement stairs.

 

~*~

 

Courtesy of his own time spent in Hell, Dean's vivid imagination had provided him with more than a few horrific visions of Castiel and Sam being tortured past the point of being recognizable. And so, as he eased the door open a crack and peered into the foul depths of Crowley's lair, he was stunned to see the truth the demon had hidden behind his lies. His angel and his brother were relatively unharmed. Bloodied noses and bone-deep bruises, true. More than a few nasty-looking cuts and burns, but nothing life-threatening. Sam, especially, was in good shape. Shackled to the cement block wall at one end of the lab, more sweat than blood glistened on his bare torso. Dean breathed a little prayer of thanks, a breath that turned into a low growl as his eye was drawn back to the angel at the other end of the long chamber. Naked and helpless, Castiel was suspended by chains set in rings high above his head: his arms straining towards the ceiling, his anchored feet barely touching the floor. Slick trails of blood attested to his less fortunate condition.

Both men lifted their bowed heads when the heavy door crashed back against the wall and Dean stepped out on the landing.

“Dean!” Sam cried. "What the hell are you thinking? You can't just waltz in here like that!"

Dean slowly made his way down the metal staircase, pausing with one foot on the final tread as Crowley suddenly appeared before him, keeping a prudent distance from Ruby's knife, but still effectively barring Dean's progress.

“You were right, Dean,” the demon admitted, eyes nictitating like a snake's, turning black and brown in turn as he struggled to keep himself together. “The souls are fading... draining my borrowed power as they go. But I am still the King of Hell. I am still the most powerful creature in this room. You'd do well to remember that.”

“Get out of my way,” Dean warned, taking a step forward.

Crowley matched him step for step as they began to warily circle each other. “I don't have time for this,” he snarled.

“I'm kinda in a rush myself,” Dean replied. “You've lost, Crowley. You can't have them. So feel free to fuck off any time now.”

“Maybe I can't have them both... but neither can you.”

Dean stopped dead in his tracks and blinked uncertainly. “What are you saying?” he said.

“I'm saying, you pathetic excuse for a hominid, that you can't be in two places at the same time. So go ahead and choose, Dean. The angel or your brother? Whichever one you go for, the other is mine. And, I promise,” he teased, wetting his lips with predatory anticipation, “he'll have good cause to curse your name for the rest of his very eternal and exceedingly miserable life. You think Alastair acquainted you with Hell? Why, Dean, that was just the suburbs. Wait until I show off the heart of town.”

“No,” Dean whispered, his eyes flicking back and forth from Sam to Castiel, his mind frantically scrabbling for a solution to this fucking dilemma. “No... What if – what if I take their place?” he offered hopefully. “Please? Please take me instead.”

“No!” Sam and Castiel's voices rang out, both men furiously and futilely struggling against their restraints.

“Sorry,” Crowley said loftily. “You're not my type. Your brother or the angel. That's the only deal I'm willing to make.” He glanced at his Rolex impatiently. “Tick tock, tick tock... You have precisely ten seconds to decide... and then I make the choice for you.”

“Take your brother and leave, Dean,” Castiel ordered.

“Nine...” Crowley said.

Dean took a step in Sam's direction.

“Eight...”

Dean wheeled back towards Castiel.

“Seven...”

Two steps towards Sam.

“Six...”

He cast a longing glance over his shoulder at the angel.

“Five...”

A third and fourth step his brother's way.

“Four...”

Dean twisted to look at Castiel. The angel smiled, and nodded encouragingly.

“Three...”

Sam's face shone with trust and love.

“Two...”

Dean risked a glance at Crowley. The demon smirked, and took a step towards Castiel.

“One...”

“Noooooooooooooo!!!” Dean wailed, the keening cry clearly the sound of his heart breaking. “No! No! _No!”_

Sam's jaw dropped open in disbelief as his brother spun on his heel and broke into a flat out run: frantic, pounding footsteps swiftly carrying him towards Castiel.

“OhGod-ohGod-ohGod-ohGod,” Dean chanted as he flew across the room and wrapped his arms around his angel. “Oh, God!” he sobbed. “Oh God, Cas, I love you. _I love you!”_

“Close your eyes, Dean!” Castiel shouted, snapping steel chains as if they were made of wet paper and assuming battle stance with a speed and grace beyond Dean's mortal comprehension. “Sam! Close your eyes!”

Dean buried his face against the avenging angel's bare and bleeding shoulder and closed his eyes. He heard the whip and crackle of Castiel's wings unfolding, felt an electric current jolt through every cell in his body as the angel's hand slotted into place upon his mark.

“ _Crowley..._ ” Castiel's deep voice growled.

And the room exploded with light.


End file.
